I don’t know why I didn’t think more about her after ... after what happened to my father. Probably because my sole focus in life since getting the call I never wanted to receive has been finding the truth and then gaining justice for him.
As my stepmother blathers on about her next snail being too rubbery or too salty, andhow can this possibly be a Michelin-starred restaurant with such terrible service because I finished my glass of wine three minutes ago and no one has come to refill it,I zone out.
At least, I zone out until I overhear an unmistakable voice—Randi Brown’s voice—from just beyond my stepmother, telling her date she’s ready to get the hell out of here.
I stare over my stepmother’s shoulder at Randi as her gaze zeroes in on me and she stops in midstep. What feels like every drop of blood drains from my face as we make eye contact.
I’m wearing Memphis Lockwood reporter-on-the-air persona tonight. No one should recognize me as Drew, but the hair on the back of my neck lifts at the way Randi is staring. It’s like she sees right through me.
And right next to her ... is GTR Rossetti.
Oh Jesus Christ. Oh Jesus Christ. Please don’t say anything, Randi. Please don’t say anything.
“Why the fuck are you stopping?” GTR asks her, pushing Randi along to get her moving again.
Randi rips her gaze from mine and locks arms with GTR. “Because I’m waiting for you, bad boy. Come on.”
Before I can duck my head and pray she didn’t just recognize me, my stepmother turns around and snaps her fingers in the air, rudely summoning the server who finally dares to come two steps closer.
“I need a refill. Right now.” She shakes her head and turns back to me. “Next time, Memphis, you’re taking me somewherenice.”
My name rings in the air in my stepmother’s tone of eternal disappointment, and there’s no way Randi can miss it. She does a double take, her eyes narrowed on me in a quick glance over her shoulder as she leaves the restaurant.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.I have to tell Cannon.Now.
While my stepmother places her order for a dish that’s not even on the menu, I pull out my phone and tap out a quick text.
Me:I’m at L’Atelier and GTR and Randi were here together. Randi looked at me too hard as they were leaving. Like she recognized me. My mom used my real name in front of her. Help.
As I type the words,I realize that I’mfucked.What if Randi says something to GTR about thinking she saw someone who reminded her of me? How long could something like that possibly take to make its way back to Dom? And if it gets back to Dom ...
I remember the icy feeling of terror that suffocated me at the construction site when I thought he was coming to kill me because he’d found out my real identity. It’s rising in me now, and my fingers curl into my cloth napkin while I grip the phone tightly with the other hand.
My leg bounces to dispel the nervous energy.
My stepmother corrects the server about whatever.
My breathing quickens as, once again, a very real threat settles into the pit of my stomach.
I pray to God my cell buzzes with a response that tells me Cannon is coming to the rescue. He said we were in this together, and I hope he knows what to do.
Which is when I realize that I’ve never relied on a man other than my father to come to my rescue. That’s big. Huge.
And I hope it doesn’t cause us to end up dead.
Mommy Dearest taps her fork against my crystal wineglass, jolting me back to the moment. “Memphis? Are you going to order? We’re waiting on you.”
I lift the corners of my mouth into a fake smile that I’m sick of wearing. I’m tired of hiding. Being in disguise. Not being able to show how I feel.
It’s time for a change. It’s time to just beme.
But a feeling of unease creeps up my neck.
“Still deciding. What do you recommend?” I ask, not bothering to look at the server. Instead, I glance over my shoulder and find GTR’s gaze drilling into me. He and Randi hover near the exit, with GTR talking on his phone.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Please be talking to your driver and not someone else. Like your father. About how you’re going to bring something big to Dom to try to repair the truce.
My thoughts race as the server gives an effusive description of a fish I’ve never heard of nor care to eat, but I blurt out, “I’ll have that. Sounds great.”